Second Life
by Guider
Summary: Voldemort is brought back to life by Death to restore the unbalance in the magical world. Death descides to stay close to The Dark Lord in it's human, female form.


I watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2 and realized how much I wanted Voldemort to live forever after-all, kind of a happy ending for us fans ;).

It's the school holidays SO, I start to write my opinion of what Deathly Hallows part 3 should synonymise. My main idea was Nagini being an animagus, I googled my idea and saw that I'm not the first one to have thought of it after all. Thus, I present plan B :).

Warning this is Fandom and anyone can twist the very laws of nature let alone literature.

Please rate afterwards.

Chapter 1 - Returned

Death's world revolved around the mortal realm, it had forever watched the mortal's world grate by. Generations of souls had slipped by into the timeless coves of death but something had shaken the world. The death of The Dark Lord had been inevitable but curious still. It pondered the events as the eddy subsided into a thin rim. It watched the mortal world grate by and considered their fiery emotions, it was intriguing and it was tempted. There was no denial it was enticed, the whole volatile experience of earth seemed exciting. Some souls broke while others thrived. Some flourished and other withered. Humanity had grown dull even if it was blooming. There was a horrible imbalance now that one specific soul passed into it's realm. The magical world needed a problem again.

So it made a deal with the feared soul as it slipped into Death's dominion. -The soul –had offered it's self- as a trade to return home long enough to find vengeance- it wasn't a fair transaction but Death agreed sensing promise of excitement.

A woman knelt before the feeble light of a growing flame. She gingerly tossed a pinch of dried blood into the fire. The flame flared green for a moment, lighting up the room. The sloping beams threw deep shadows across the high ceiling. The room was barely furnished, an antique desk shoved into a corner, two bookshelves sighing under the weight of rows of books in each corner. The sill of a large window nearly touched the floor and stretched over the span of one wall. The dim of night was being kept out by a small ball of white light that rested on the tip of an oak wand. Her back cast to the window the woman now strew pieces of nightshade into the soot covered cauldron at her knees. Her fingers left her lap for the lock of silver hair straddled behind her ear freeing it and allowing a mass of gentle curls to also swing into her face. She continued glancing at a worn scroll rolled open beside her. Her eyes sweeping the thin parchment and returning to the cauldron clinically searching the thick molasses for a sign of error and when it found none it drifted to the body in front of the window, peacefully slumbering through the ritual being preformed. A wisp of smoke trailed from the mixture and swirled into the air. She hastily stirred the mix clockwise twice. She smiled, seeming satisfied with her work. She sat back on her haunches and the pale face caught her eyes again. She was intrigued.

She carried herself with an uncomfortable demeanour as if she wasn't used to her full frame even tough she knew what she had to do. Everything was new and she liked the feeling of this rich dimension. It was reliable and fairly constant in its habits. But she wasn't here to analyse it she came just out of boredness/curiosity.

It had taken her two days to find the grave and dig the corpse out and another day to find the perfect host body. But everything could finally start happening now and the thought of it made her anxious. She reached into her robes, pulled a chunky ring from the folds and slipped it on while admiring the craftsmanship.

The man whimpered and the sound tore through her thoughts making her level her eyes at him again. He was handsome even as his face contorted in pain, he had prominent cheekbones and his jet black hair framed his face loosely in contrast with his pallid skin. She drew closer to him and studied his features.

"Does it hurt?" she acquired innocently. His brows creased in reaction. She brushed a curl from his temple before piercing the skin of his neck with a dagger's point and tapping the wizard's own oak wand against the wound. The veins of his neck grew dark as a fluid black haze spread through them to his jaw and his collarbone before settling into a stain leaving the skin with a harsh mark that crept into the side of his face.

His eyes opened wide and his lips parted slightly before he seemed to drift into unconsciousness again. She placed her ring hand over the small puncture in his neck and whispered something. His eyes flew open again and there was an obvious transformation. His pupil contracted and tore into the iris until it had reached the dark rim. She grinned at the sedated man and stood up. It had worked and Lord Voldemort was again amid the living with his soul slowly sewing the seven pieces into one again. She had given him his whole soul because of their deal and she couldn't wait to see what he would do with his strength returned inside a new fit host.

The host's soul had been replaced and Death's stomach leapt as The Dark Lord slowly gained consciousness. His eyes widened and she could almost see his thoughts reflecting in his face, this was going to be good. He pushed himself up on his elbows and groaned involuntary. "Does it hurt?" she asked him, he seemed to finally notice her. "No" he replied firmly in a husky voice.

"It feels good, the new body" she remarked speaking of her own new form. He didn't reply and sat up further his face hardening as his head slowly cleared.

"I'm going to stay here for a while," she told the preoccupied wizard. She had looked forward to a conversation but he didn't seem in the mood. Annoyed now, she cocked her head at him and decided to remind him who she was.

"I brought you back." She said bluntly demanding respect. "I know" he answered curtly, looking at the fine lines on his hands "I remember the feeling of you." He clenched his fists; he had killed himself, how he could have taken that risk puzzled him. Dumbledore noted once that he didn't give enough attention to details. But this was a victory he reminded himself, a second chance he was going to take even if he didn't like how he'd obtain it, where was the catch? He didn't mean enough … why would she bring him back? She had cut into his thoughts with a frosty voice that reminded him of all his failures. Stay for a while, where were they? The questions kept flooding into his mind, setting him on edge. "Where are we?" he asked trying to compose himself.

"In an abbey a little way south of Surrey, I thought it adequate seeing we're going to need room." She answered in what seemed more like her musing to herself. She didn't even look at him to see if he was baffled, he had to be, she hadn't let him in on her plans in the realm of death they just left. "There is an unbalance in the world, it needs to be steadied." His high pitched laugh reverberated from the walls. This was going well if Death it's self was on his side. "Supporters" she stated as an enquiry, carefully ignoring his plain delight at her striving to the same goal as he.

He was calm now. His mind was already working on a new strategy that was easily falling into place. 'Morsmordre!" he cried, pointing the oak wand to the sky.


End file.
